


Randomizer Fic #1

by Poplitealqueen



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Comedy, F/M, GFY, Gen, I'm not even sure what this fic is exactly, M/M, Other, Time Travel, Word salad, randomizer fic, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poplitealqueen/pseuds/Poplitealqueen
Summary: An unlikely group forms on the planet Jehda thanks to interference from the legendary Journal of the Whills. (Aka the canon-breaking, magic, maybe-sentient Force thing can and will fuck with you. Do not trust the Journal.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, yesterday, I challenged myself to do something I have dubbed a "randomizer fic". The challenge is this: you go to a random list generator site and put in as many names of characters as you can think of, with any extra stuff you'd like to add in for fun. Then you randomize it, and pick anywhere from two to seven characters and write a fic where they all meet, no matter how absurd or unusual. I thought it would be fun, and it is. Here was the list of characters I got for this round:
> 
> *Chirrut Imwe  
> *Baze Malbus  
> *Obi-Wan Kenobi  
> *Kanan Jarrus  
> *Dogma  
> *Ghost Fives  
> *Jango Fett with a baby
> 
> The second part of this challenge (which is mostly just to get me to write more and more cohesively, and can be skipped by others) is to write as much as you can in a day. So this was done all today, with a bare bit of editing before posting on Tumblr and now on here. Anyways.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy. It will most likely be finished. Probably. Gonna try and do that tomorrow. And no, I don't understand how my brain comes up with this stuff, either. (My guess is the ADD.)
> 
> -Pop

“Don’t you have someone better to haunt?”

That was, to Dogma’s disappointment, what finally brought the stormtroopers over to them. In his defense, even a lifetime spent with Fives couldn’t always prepare him for how annoying his older brother could be.

Fives currently occupied the air a few inches above the frost-encrusted ground of this small alley of Jehda City, his pale-blue form twinkling with the pinpoints of distant stars in the night sky behind him. He had an all-too-familiar scowl on his face; Dogma recognized it as a face he’d always made before he’d decided to grow the beard. Fives was pretty good at it.

“If I did, do you really think I’d still be here?” Fives asked.

“I dunno,” responded Dogma with a movement that was half-shrug and half-shiver. “The Force works in mysterious ways.”

Fives’s ghostly blue form wavers in irritation.

“You should’ve just asked for directions,” he said.

“Why? The Temple is right blood there!” Dogma pointed emphatically at the large, castle-like building at the very end of the plateau. It loomed over the smaller domes and flat roofs of the holy city of Jehda like a mountain peak. Dogma felt a pang of… something… at how much it resembled the Jedi Temple back on Coruscant. That something was definitely distaste.

Fives crossed his arms and scoffed. “If it’s so easy to find, how come you’re all the way over here?”

“I’m sorry, some of us can’t just float our way through walls.”

“You could’ve just, oh, I dunno, asked for directions,” Fives repeats deliberately.

“From who, the Stormtroopers?”

Fives’s pinched expression relaxed a fraction, and he pointed with his eyes. “Well, now that you mention it.”

Dogma followed his ghostly brother’s line of sight, turning slowly on his heel with his left hand poised over the hidden blaster in his pocket.

Two Stormtroopers were bearing down on him from the mouth of the alley, rifles half-cocked and stances painfully sloppy. Yet there was no doubt they were terrifying and intimidating to anyone without proper military training. Dogma sucked in a chilly breath between his teeth, and forced his body to relax.

“You look kriffing suspicious,” said Fives, matter-of-factly.

Dogma put on the best smile he could, his numb face hurting with the effort.

“Evening, boys. How are you doing?”

The Stormtrooper on the left stepped forward with the nozzle of his rifle pressed into the front of Dogma’s jacket.

“There’s a curfew. What are you doing out this late, old timer?” they asked in a crisp voice.

“You know, we’re -- _I, h_ a, I meant I -- _I’m_ just… lost?”

“So convincing,” said Fives, sarcastically.

His brother had a point. The left Stormtrooper didn’t lower their weapon, while the right one raised their’s.

“We’ll need to see some identification,” said the right one menacingly. It mostly made Dogma want to roll his eyes. He didn’t.

“You just rolled your eyes,” said Fives.

“Go away,” Dogma hissed.

“Excuse me, citizen?” said the right Stormtrooper.

“Right away. I said right away.” Dogma laughed uncertainly, stuck his hand into his coat and pulled the trigger on his blaster.

The red beam of light, muffled by the heavy material of his coat, singed through Dogma’s pocket and hit the right Stormtrooper in the heart, killing them instantly.

The left one reacted a moment too late, giving Dogma more than enough time to duck out of their line of fire and sweep them off of their feet with his leg. The Stormtrooper landed on their back with a groan, and the rifle went sliding down the alleyway.

Dogma stood over them and planted his booted foot firmly on their chestplate. His blaster was now out of his pocket and aimed at their bucket. He tilted his head and half-smiled.

“Tell us how to get to the Jehda Temple.”

*****

Some way across the galaxy -- although, thanks to the science of spatial mechanics and a universally-accepted, galaxy-wide clock -- at around the same time, three important things happened.

On Tatooine, beneath a canopy of stars and moons, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat cross-legged at the edge of a kilometers deep, dried-out ravine. His closed eyes snapped open like he’d just been electrified (which he was used to, but still, for lack of a less funny term, shocked by) and looked like wet stones in the moonlight, dark and shiny.

“Oh shit,” he said.

Meanwhile, on Yavin IV, but, again, at relatively the same time, Kanan Jarrus jerked awake in his bed, lathered in sweat. Beside him, Hera Syndulla went right on sleeping.

“Oh shit,” he said.

Back on Jehda itself, in the Temple Dogma and Fives are so desperately trying to get to, Chirrut Imwe and Baze Malbus are currently having sex in the small side room of the Whills Chamber (the Whills aren’t actually there at the moment, exactly, but they will be) and having a very good time.

Chirrut grabs fistfuls of sheets when Baze rolls his hips in a series of perfect motions. His breath mists out in front of him in the too cold room.

 _“Oh shit,”_ he moans, and Baze grunts out something that sounds the same.

*****

Dogma ran down the sandy streets of Jehda City; Fives floated above them at his side.

“I think we should take a left here,” said Fives.

“The Stormtrooper said to go right,” responded Dogma. “You’re going to get us lost again.”

“I didn’t get us lost.”

“Banthashit.”

Fives made a face, and fazed through a locked-down stall as Dogma turned sharply in his dead-sprint towards the Jehda Temple.

“You know they’re not technically Jedi, right?” Fives said suddenly, and to Dogma’s tired surprise, with more than a little sympathy. “You don’t need to be scared of them.”

All the words managed to do was piss Dogma off.

“I’m -- not -- scared,” Dogma wheezed, forcing his legs to continue pumping beneath him. What he said was true (he hoped). It had been a long, long time since he’d been around people that even slightly resembled Jedi. If he was being completely honest with himself, the ban the Empire had put on any and everything to do with them had done wonders for his anxiety. After Umbara, after his trial, which was only a sentencing and little else, he’d been sent to a corner of the galaxy so remote it had been years before he’d even spoken to another being.

(He hadn’t really been sent there. He’d been sentenced for decommission on Kamino; he’d been sent off to be scrapped like some clanker for doing the right thing. But practicing his freedom of choice in killing… in killing his former General on Umbara had left him with a taste for it. He’d killed his guards, the ones who weren’t clones like him, at least, and escaped from the rest. To this day, he still wondered if brothers simply let him go.)

Whatever the case, he’d been free to go into hiding. It was indeed years before he spoke to another person, and that first one had been a ghost. Fives.

And he hadn’t stopped talking for almost fifteen years now.

“--STOP!” Fives’s voice dug through his thoughts just in time, and Dogma came just short of slamming face first into the impossibly high gate of the Jehda Temple.

“Now really isn’t the time to internally monologue,” Fives chastised him. “Stay on top of your mission, trooper!”

“I wasn’t monologuing,” Dogma insisted.

Fives raised a dark-blue eyebrow at him, and said, “Sure, and I’m Jabba the Hutt.”

Dogma ignored that and craned his neck, but even with the crown of his head almost touching his back, he couldn’t see the top of the wall, and the gates were clearly locked. Oddly enough, that put Dogma into a strange sort of ease. The Jedi had never used something like this.

“Now what?” he asked, between light gasps of air. He was really out of shape.

Fives crossed his arms over his chestplate, and regarded the wall with a look approaching excited.

“Give me a second, vod,” he said, and walked through the gate.

Dogma gave him a second, then two. At a full minute, he was sticking his thumb through the new, crispy hole in his (expensive) coat pocket. This thing was quality synthleather, damn it! His other hand held his blaster pistol next to his thigh, ready to be raised up and fired at a moment’s notice. That thought caused Dogma to quickly scan his surroundings out of habit. Despite the crowded nature of Jehda City, a large, empty courtyard separated the Temple’s gates from the city proper. It made the hairs on the back of Dogma’s neck stand on end. He hated being this exposed, and, sooner or later, the absence of those two Stormtroopers was going to be noticed and they’d--

“Hey.”

Dogma’s head snapped back to the gate, blaster aimed with his finger on the trigger. Fives held up his hands in mock surrender as he continued back through the gate. Once he was fully back on Dogma’s side, he placed his hands on his hips.

“D’you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“I’m not going to do the Kenobi line, asshole. Just tell me.”

Fives sighed loudly. “I hate you, too,” he said pleasantly, before continuing with, “The good news is, there’s nobody on the other side to stop you. Not even Stormtroopers.”

“We already knew the place was probably deserted,” Dogma said, despite the knowledge letting him breathe a little easier. No Jedi? No problem. “So what’s the bad news?”

Fives grinned. “You’re going to have to climb.”

*****

It should be noted at this point that if one has a properly-maintained, latest issue alluvial damper, they have the ability to hop from, say, Yavin IV or Tatooine to Jehda in less than an hour cycle.

As it stands, Obi-Wan Kenobi had a properly-maintained, but decades-old alluvial damper at his disposal, while Kanan Jarrus had a poorly-maintained (much to his wife’s eternal consternation), but latest issue alluvial damper, so neither of them will be arriving at a good time, even if they hurry.

*****

Baze sat at the foot of the bed, quietly cleaning his heavy repeater cannon. It was currently unattached from its power cell, and nearly invisible to Chirrut’s senses as a result.

A lifetime of being blind and learning to see through the Force had taught the monk a few things, however. Just because he couldn’t see something didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

And he knew Baze.

If his husband wasn’t stroking him in bed, process of elimination meant that it was his cannon. Not to mention the small room reeked of cleaning solvent.

That usually meant Baze was worried about something, too. ‘Worried’ not “sensing a disturbance in the Force.’ Baze had been particular about that since he left the Order, and Chirrut humored him, even if he didn’t believe it. One didn’t simply lose the Force because they wanted to, although if there was one man bull-headed enough to do it, it was his Baze.

Chirrut stretched beneath the blanket and poked at a knob in Baze’s tan back with the toe of one foot. He sensed the way the Force around his husband changed slightly from worried to loved. Their connection sang.

“Would you like to talk about it?” asked Chirrut.

Baze shifted, and the mattress of the old bed squealed beneath him. Chirrut knew he wouldn’t say nothing was wrong -- they both knew him well enough to know that was a lie, and those weren’t necessary between them.

“We’ll need to leave soon,” Baze said gruffly. A forlorn feeling shivered in the Force around him, a shade of greyish black-blue that doesn’t exist outside of the Force. “I’m sad about that.”

“I am, too,” Chirrut pulled the blankets and the sheets back and crawled naked across the bed to where he sensed Baze. Carefully, he pressed himself against Baze’s back, warm flesh against warm flesh and, at Chirrut’s chest, the fuzzy scratch of Baze’s long hair. His arms wound their way around broad shoulders, and Chirrut pressed his cheek against Baze’s.

“We are one with the Force-- “ he began.

“The Force is with us,” Baze finished lamely, and the movement of his jaw suggested that he was scowling. Chirrut doesn’t know what a scowl actually looks like, but he does know that it means a nerve has been hit somewhere. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about abandoning our home.”

“It helps me feel better,” Chirrut told him, “and besides, even if the physical place is lost, nothing is ever truly lost within the Force.”

Baze snorted, but he still pressed himself into Chirrut’s hold, and placed his cannon aside to hold his hands.

“Do you truly believe that?” Baze asked.

“Yes, I do,” Chirrut said honestly. “Would it make you feel better if we dressed and left now?”

“Yes.”

Chirrut kissed him. “Then we’ll go. I’ve hidden the crystals we can’t carry. All that’s left are the Whills.”

*****

“I’m going to fall.”

“You’re not going to fall. Just pretend you’re back in basic.”

One booted foot slipped from a frozen crack in the geode-studded wall, and for one heart-stopping moment, Dogma is flailing in the cold night air.

Then his foot caught the next imperfection in the rock, and with one final heave he pulled himself over the top of the wall. He laid belly down at the top, breathing heavily and reminding himself over and over again t _o not kriffing look down. Don’t look down._

“See?” Fives’s disembodied voice said beside his head. “Told you so.”

Dogma said a bad word.

Fives rolled his eyes and looked down the way they had come curiously. Even dead, it made his head spin.

“Touchy,” he said.

“I have every right to be touchy,” Dogma grumbled. “I’m almost _28_ , I’m _ancient._ Meanwhile, you get to be forever young.”

“I have a blaster hole in my chest!”

Now it was Dogma’s turn to roll his eyes. “It ain’t my fault you don’t know how to be a Force Ghost,” he said, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. The top of the wall was the same material as the outer side: sharp, unsmoothed geode with flecks of crystal glittering in the moonlight. Dogma was going to run out of bacta patches at this rate. He took a deep breath, covered all the cuts he could on his palms, and exhaled slowly. “How long is the way down on the other side?” he asked.

“About two minutes.” Fives said as Dogma got to his feet. The top of the wall was only about twice the length of him, so instead concentrating on that, he followed Fives’s pointed finger to his next destination. “There’s a window into the Temple right there.”

******

Occasionally, the mysterious way in which the Force works ends up being helpful for all parties involved. Occasionally, two former Jedi land on a planet named for them at the same time, and make their separate, secret ways to the same destination: a temple.

Occasionally, or, really, most frequently, the Force likes to make things interesting. This phenomenon is what leads to the Stormtrooper legion within Jehda City being informed two of their number have been found dead in an alley, right around the time when a lone figure or two, resembling Jedi, are spotted heading towards the Jehda Temple.

The Force, as they should say, works in unfair ways.

*****

Chirrut was dressed first, his red monk clothing snug beneath his black coat. He helped Baze by zipping up the back of his full body suit. Baze then shouldered his cannon’s power cell onto his back, and plugged the cannon itself into the armored power cord snaking out from the bottom of the cell, beneath his right arm, and into the back of his blaster.

It was at once the most intriguing and the strangest assassin’s get-up Chirrut had ever not seen. He could tell by touch alone. He remembered, back when Baze had asked him if he would still stay with him if he left the Order and became a mercenary and Chirrut had said yes, Chirrut had asked his husband how one could be an assassin with a cannon.

Baze had smiled one of his rare smiles at him and said, “You’ll handle the quiet stuff. I’ll be the distraction.”

In truth, they both took turns being either sneaky or the distraction. They were legendary for their impeccable teamwork, whether it had been when they were part of the Order (which Chirrut never formally left) or when they had become mercenaries-for-hire (which Chirrut had never formally joined). They had made a name for themselves when they had left the Jehda Temple.

Then, after the Emperor had all of the monks that remained taken away or killed, they had returned. The Emperor, blinded as he was by his lust for power, had never found the most powerful thing hidden within the Temple: the Journal of the Whills, a written archive of everything that has been, is, or will be. It was the most important Force artifact that Chirrut knew of, and the Emperor himself had utterly missed it.

Until now.

Within a few day’s time, the Empire had scheduled for the Temple to be ransacked and levelled, and all the remaining Kyber crystals -- the source of lightsabers and the hidden Whills -- were to be brought under Imperial jurisdiction.

That was why he and Baze had returned.  As the last of their Order-- formerly or not -- it was their duty to make sure the Whills did not fall into the Emperor’s hands. They were, and always would be, guardians of the Whills.

Once they were both completely dressed and packed, Chirrut exited the side room first. He rested his hand upon the doorframe with carven symbols etched into the soft stone, and wished his birthplace and first home farewell for the last time. It was as the Force willed. Baze stood aside, cannon in one hand, and simply watched.

After Chirrut was finished, they both made their way to the center of the Whills Chamber. The Chamber was one large room with a reflective white floor and four latticed columns rising from each corner into the distant ceiling. They were made of silver-white stone, with veins of glittering geode. Near the ceiling, long, open, horizontal windows framed the entire room, and allowed moonlight to spill inside.

The room itself was empty save for the four pillars, Chirrut, and Baze. It echoed with the silence.

Chirrut and Baze stepped into the center of the room, where a faint circle could be seen in the polished stone floor. Chirrut stood to one side of the circumference, Baze the other. Chirrut held up his hands, while Baze only stood there, looking more than a little uncomfortable.

“This will be the last time, Baze,” said Chirrut gently.

Baze set his jaw, and nodded ever so slightly. He holstered his cannon on his hip and held out his hands.

“One last time,” he said, and called upon the Force with Chirrut.

It takes two, trained in the particular nuances of the Force that Guardians of the Whills practice, to bring the Whills out of their resting place deep within the plateau holding up the City and the Temple. As Baze and Chirrut concentrate and pull, power grew, rising like smoke, until the circle in between them rose from the floor to reveal a peculiar crystal suspended in a tube of blue light.

That crystal was the Journal of the Whills. It housed the secrets of their Order, and, some might even say, the secrets of the Force itself.

A millennia ago, or perhaps even longer still, the Journal was carved onto this Kyber crystal and even wielded as part of a lightsaber by the greatest of their offshoot Order.

It danced with promise in the Force. Words and thoughts given physical form. At least, that was how it always looked to Chirrut. To Baze, it looked like a clear, thumb-sized crystal with words that had no meaning rolling along it just beneath the surface. It was said that it housed the beginning of the Universe, and its end. It was said that it held the life of every person that ever has, does, and will exist within its depths.

Of course, it never remained the same. Second by second, the words it showed would change. The future was in constant motion, like a river, and the Journal of the Whills rode right along its current.Those foolish enough to ever attempt to retain its knowledge, whether about themselves or others, were doomed to madness. Only the Shamans of the Whills could read it, or so Chirrut had always been told. If that were true, he didn’t know. He’d yet to meet a Shaman.

Chirrut disengaged the force field, and took the Whills in his hand. He took special care not to put too much of his concentration on it. It was at that point that a few interesting things happened.

Baze yelled something.

A man and what Chirrut could only describe as a being made of pure midichlorians fell from the ceiling, and also yelled something.

Two more men (with honest lightsabers in their hands! Chirrut could recognize that smell anywhere) burst through the main door leading into the chamber and yelled something, too.

And a bomb went off.

**(TBC in Part 2)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married people and their squabbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same idea as yesterday, folks. This was written today. No, I don't completely understand it either. Yes, there will be more.
> 
> Enjoy, friendos.
> 
> -Pop

_ Earlier… _

Obi-Wan Kenobi couldn’t believe that he was actually thinking this, but he missed Tatooine. 

He’d come to Jehda woefully unprepared and woefully underdressed, with only the scratchy tunic, trousers, and patchy, old robe he’d been wearing when Master Qui-Gon contacted him.

It had been the second between a breath, and suddenly Qui-Gon was there, hovering over the sheer drop into the distant ravine that Obi-Wan had been meditating beside.

It had been about bloody time. He’d had his “Oh, shit” moment in the Force almost twenty minutes prior.

But just as Obi-Wan had been poised to open himself up to Force and give Qui-Gon a piece of his mind regarding other people’s time and honoring them, Qui-Gon said,

“The Whills are in danger.”

Now, when he said Whills, he could have meant many things. Contrary to popular (and, apparently, grammatical) belief, the Whills were not one thing. They weren’t even a single Order, despite all of them falling beneath a similar jurisdiction. Qui-Gon had explained the specifics in intimate detail over multiple cups of tea he couldn’t drink but that Obi-Wan always insisted on making.

So, it was with that background that Obi-Wan had every right in asking, “What do you mean?” without being called a fool.

Master Qui-Gon’s already impassive face barely moved. Some would call that tranquility; Obi-Wan called it the ‘about to hear something he wouldn’t like’ face, such as “I won’t train you” or “You’re ready for your Trials.”

“Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan persisted.

Qui’s blue-hued lips twitched beneath his thin mustache. “On Jehda, the Journal of the Whills -- a compendium of all knowledge that has been, is, and will be attained by the Shamans, Guardians, and Students -- will be destroyed.”

“By?”

Qui-Gon gave him a tight-lipped look that meant he didn’t know.

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose, and untangled his legs to stand up.

“What is it I must do?” he said with the air of someone that would rather just go to bed now.

A brief look of relief crossed Qui-Gon’s face, and if there was one reason to do anything for his old Master, Obi-Wan realized, it was for that smile.

“You must go to Jehda and stop the Journal from being read,” said Qui-Gon.

“That would destroy it?”

“It would definitely destroy something,” Qui-Gon said, and gave him another sheepish, unknowledgable look. “It is vital that you get there as soon as possible.”

That gave Obi-Wan reason to pause. His eyes inevitably strayed towards the distant horizon, in the direction he know the Lars Homestead to be.

“Qui-Gon, I can’t…” he began, but his Master stopped him with one raised, see-through hand. 

“I won’t force this task upon you, Obi-Wan,” he said, and his voice got a bit hoarse and heavy. “The Force knows I have done that too often enough.”

Obi-Wan heaved a quiet groan. Apologies. _ Again.  _ While Obi-Wan appreciated the fact that Qui-Gon felt remorse for how he had treated Obi-Wan while he lived, and actively tried to make up for it, even apologies -- no matter how sincere -- got old after awhile.

“You aren’t forcing me into anything, Master,” Obi-Wan cut him off. “But you know that my first duty is to protect Luke.”

“Let me ask you something.”

Obi-Wan was suddenly leery. “All right.”

Qui-Gon cupped his hands and looked up at his forehead, chewing on his lip in thought. “I mean this in the most respectful way possible, former Padawan mine,” he began. “You left Leia to defend for herself.”

“Because she has bail,” Obi-Wan said defensively.

“Yes, quite so. But Luke has Owen and his wife.” Qui-Gon shrugged his large shoulders. “And… well… a change of scenery once in awhile may do you well.”

“Jehda is a desert planet.”

“A  _ cold _ desert planet. Very different.” Qui-Gon took a deep breath, despite the fact he doesn’t breathe. “Look. Sooner or later you will need to realize that torturing yourself because of your padawan helps nobody.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him.

“Oh what do you know?” Obi-Wan finally demanded, surprised at himself. It was shocking to him sometimes how different their interactions were now. It was no longer Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, Master and Apprentice, but Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, equals that argued like an old married couple.

Qui-Gon’s white-blue eyes got big and watery, and Obi-Wan swore his lower lip had started to tremble a bit. “I  _ should _ know,” Qui-Gon said dramatically, “but for me to talk to you in such a tone, it is--”

Obi-Wan sighed softly, and kicked a rock over the edge of the cliff. “...will you watch over Luke while I’m away?”

Qui-Gon sniffled. “Of course,” he said. “I already do.”

“Would he be able to see you--” Obi-Wan began, and stopped. “Wait. Already?  _ Has _ he seen you?”

Qui-Gon looked sheepish, and disappeared. Sighing again, this time with a grumble or two, Obi-Wan followed the winding path back to his hut, wondering if the alluvial dampers on his hidden starfighter ring were still in good working order.

*****

It wasn’t.

Obi-Wan very nearly ended up floating in Coruscant’s upper atmosphere.

*****

Kanan Jarrus basically rolled his way out of bed and into the Phantom II, pausing just long enough to let Rex -- who never slept much anyway and was playing a game with Chopper on the Ghost’s dejarik board -- know that he was going to Jehda.

He wasn’t quite sure why.

Getting the ship started was the easy part (wasn’t Ezra supposed to clean those alluvial dampers?). The hard part was when he made his way back into the cockpit and found Hera sitting in the pilot’s seat, arms crossed and her uncovered lekku quivering angrily.

“You tell Rex but now me,” she said as way of explanation, and then nodded. “So. Where are we going?”

“Jehda.” Kanan said with a relieved smile, and got into the copilot’s seat as Hera turned her’s around and fired up the Mark II.

“Jehda, huh?” Hera scowled slightly at the alluvial damper readouts. “Jedi stuff?”

“Jedi stuff.”

Hera grinned. “Exciting.”

  
**(TBC in Part 3.)**

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are loved, comments are adored, bookmarks are horded, subs are stared at in a silent stupor.


End file.
